Nothing goes better with a beer than a good story. Since I didn’t hear it during my visit, I called later to get the tale behind the name of this brew pub. Alain Brousseau, one of three co-owners, was happy to oblige over the phone: “It goes back to the era of Nouvelle France,” he began. “Marguerite d’Youville was a young woman of the local French aristocracy of the 1700s who had married a wealthy man named François d’Youville. He made his money from the trade of black-market liquor to the native people, which was perceived very badly by the Catholic community.”

When he died at age 30, his widow founded and fundraised for a home that sheltered and fed the poor, an enterprising move that was not without criticism at the time.

“The talk was that while he may have departed this earth, his stash of liquor was still here,” Brousseau said, explaining that in those days, someone drunk was described as “grisé par l’alcool” (grey from alcohol) and the women who aided Marguerite were known as les soeurs grises. The name stuck when the Grey Nuns went on to become the religious order. Today, Marguerite d’Youville and Les Soeurs Grises streets run near the Old Montreal building where the brasserie makes its own tongue-in-cheek reference to this coloured past.

There were obviously big plans behind this brew pub. The space is very slick – my inner designer calls it warm modernist – with strong linear shapes set off by smart lighting that keeps it cozy, notably a cool trestle-mounted fixture that runs down the centre of the room, a wink to an old-style swing set. There’s also a lot of money in the infrastructure, the back end required for smoking your own meats, which they do here, and brewing your own beer, which they will be doing here soon (once the permit comes through). I mention the investment because while this is essentially a neighbourhood pub, it’s more chic than cheap. Like living in Le Vieux Montréal.

The vibe is relaxed, though. As we sat down, my friend, the human SoundHound, got busy identifying Journey and then Pete Seeger on the soundtrack. When the television behind the bar started showing the Habs vs. Sabres game, the music was replaced with sounds of hollering and hissing (and ultimately, the silence of defeat – again, sigh). What really made the atmosphere was the scent of woodsmoke – updating the cigarette smoke that imbued local taverns not so long ago.

That smoker is put to particularly good use on the pork ribs, which have an alluring balance of flavours and the right dryness for straight-up nibbling: I barely needed the maple-tinged barbecue sauce that came on the side. Chicken wings here are ailes de lapin – yes, rabbit wings – actually, the front legs of the “other other white meat,” and it’s two for $7. Although I liked the hickory notes, they didn’t inspire the robotic-reach-for-more that chicken wings do.

A small bowl of sauerkraut was warmly delicious, and we found the mustard sauce intended for the rabbit worked even better with the cabbage. The tame condiments left room to appreciate the various smoky flavours (they use hickory for wings and pulled pork, for instance, and cherry wood for the ribs).

Among bigger plates, grilled cheese with chorizo and fig spread, hot-smoked trout or gravlax would be lighter fare – this menu goes deep into meat. An order of braised bison, served in a square cast-iron pan I readily admit to coveting, came with a hunk of rustic bread. This was totally satisfying: gentle chunks of buffalo meat and mushrooms had the concentrated darkness of a bourguignon, here slow-cooked in beer rather than wine, it was really a bièreguignon. Parmentier was a version of shepherd’s pie topped with comfortingly creamy potatoes but overly dry shreds of beef. The blessing was the house ketchup, all sweetness, vinegar and chunky tomatoes, the kind that pairs so well with tourtière.

It was suitable winter food yet it was relentlessly meaty. Veggies needed more attention: a bowl of bell peppers, cuke and broccoli in a creamy dressing was crunchy, sure, but ultimately it tasted like conference food.

There can be a certain tunnel-vision in the wooden-board scene; adding a few bright, crisp flashes doesn’t dilute the concept.

Our two desserts were rib-sticking, too – not just another bacon brownie, but a boar-bacon brownie, and a luscious pouding chômeur – and both easy to enjoy.

Les Soeurs Grises is a stunning space, with so much attention to detail in the setting that I’m curious to see what they brew up. Our draft-drinking choices were mostly from Brasserie Dunham in the Eastern Townships – a brewery I’ve been wanting, and am still waiting, to like. The other way to go is Brousseau’s collection of Belgian beers, accumulated on trips over the last 15 years. At around nine per cent alcohol, they’re slow sippers – unless you want to go grey twice as a quick.

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